


Lattes, Prequels and Wrong Tables

by Lucy_Claire



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Human AU, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Oliver kinda fucks up, Sort of a mistaken identity, blind date au, but it turns out for the best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 01:23:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6683755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucy_Claire/pseuds/Lucy_Claire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reluctantly, Oliver shows up for a blind date in Central City set up for him by Laurel.<br/>Getting absolutely no personal information about his date aside from a vague description and the color of clothes, Oliver ends up mistaking Barry Allen for his date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lattes, Prequels and Wrong Tables

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: 'Blind Date' requested by Tumblr user kingdomhearts24

Oliver wanted to fight hard for the Being Friends part with an ex and actually succeed with Laurel, but he didn’t think that would include her setting him up on a random blind date with one of her friends in Central City.

Sure, friends set each other up all the time, but he didn’t need help getting a date, which was exactly what he told her. Laurel then specified that he didn’t need help ‘getting a good fuckbuddy’ and that he needed some kind of balance in his life, someone who could make him happy and whatnot. Oliver didn’t have time to be happy, he was a man with a company to deal with and a family to fix his relationship with, Thea still couldn’t look him in the eye entirely.

In the end, he caved before Laurel started twisting his arm, figuratively or literally. Diggle seemed to think he should at least try going on a decent date with someone he didn’t know and had no plans for or agenda against. Knowing Diggle, he figured it would end in some kind of disaster but at least he could get a good chuckle out of it.

So, here Oliver was, with a last-minute date sprung on him on his second day in Central City, standing outside a very cozy-looking coffeeshop called Jitters.

“Do I have to do this?” Oliver asked, pressing his Bluetooth speaker further into his ear. The autumn wind here in Central was almost as loud as the winter gales in Starling.

 _“You don’t_ have _to do anything,”_ said Laurel, voice smug in his ear. _“But you_ should _try.”_

“You didn’t even tell me who I’m meeting, you didn’t even give me a name or a run-down of looks, how am I supposed to find this great date of yours?”

_“It’s called a blind date for a reason, Oliver. But I’ll give you this, your date is wearing red.”_

“It’s autumn, tons of people wear red.”

_“Fine, your date is tall, kinda lanky, a bit pasty, awkward and has brown hair. Now go.”_

Oliver ended the call, breathed out a heavy, annoyed breath and walked into Jitters. He searched the entire place and the one person that fit that description at all was a tall, lanky, pale, brown-haired guy wearing a red plaid over a red shirt, hunching a little to talk to a waitress.

 _A guy?_ That was something he hadn’t done in a long, long time. What crossed her mind to set him up with a guy now? Did she think he needed a break from women or something? Or would their relationship be much less awkward with her, him and Tommy if he didn’t end up bringing a casual date, Helena or accidentally choose a woman who resembled Laurel, because that had happened before. Accidentally.

He considered turning around and leaving, making an excuse to Laurel that he didn’t find his date because at least eight people fit that description. But something about this guy held his attention, his expressive hands, his awkward shifting around like he didn’t know what to do with himself or his long body, and there was also the fact that he was pretty cute.

Giving in, Oliver headed straight for the guy’s table once he sat back down.

“Hey,” he greeted.

The guy stopped flipping through his book — a murder mystery — and looked up at Oliver, his dark green eyes a bit sad but also a bit confused. Did he think he’d been stood up?

“Hi?”

Oliver sat across from him, linking his fingers together atop the table. Once the guy across from him raised one curious eyebrow Oliver picked up on how professional he was acting and loosened up a bit, leaning back in his seat.

“You okay, dude?” he asked Oliver, watching him with slight worry.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m just no good at this,” Oliver quickly explained then cringed at his own words. “I mean, I am, but not with someone I know nothing about. It’s been a while since I’ve done this though, this whole…” Oliver vaguely gestured between them, his date’s brow rose even higher. “…I don’t interact with people outside my social circle that much, so, I’m having a hard time trying not to say anything stupid or offensive.”

“At least you’re trying, what I want to say just falls out of my mouth whether I want it to or not,” he laughed. He had a nice laugh and even nicer smile, big, even and bright, lighting up his whole face. “Man, I have so many stories about that problem alone, sometimes it’s something I mean to say but comes out in a horrible mix-up.”

“Like what?”

“Once, in gym class, I was playing soccer and I kicked the ball so hard it hit the goalie in the face and she started crying and I just panicked and started flailing all over the place,” he said hurriedly, like he was in an excited rush, giving Oliver an example of said flailing. “And instead of saying ‘Are you okay’ or ‘I’m sorry’ I yelled ‘Are you sorry’ at her?”

Unexpectedly, Oliver laughed. “That’s, that’s bad.”

“Right?”

“I’ve got a worse one.”

“How so?”

“I was at a frat party in college and I went up to this girl and, mind you, I was very drunk, so when I actually meant to say was ‘You look too pretty to be at a shitty party like this’, what I said was ‘You look shitty’,” Oliver relayed. “She threw her drink in my face.”

He cracked up, his laughs practically little giddy hiccups as he tapped the table, shaking the remains of his latte in its glass mug. It was both the dorkiest and sweetest laugh Oliver had ever heard.

“Glad to see my pain is funny,” Oliver joked, albeit a bit serious in his tone.

He wiped his eyes, still giggling, and assured Oliver that, “No, it’s just the idea that someone who looks like you could mess up that badly, I had the idea that you could say whatever you want to a girl she’d still be all over you.”

“That’s only if they knew who I was, without my name I’m another douche, I guess.”

“You’re not a — well, I guess it’s not really my place to say if you are or aren’t, since I don’t know you and all but you seem like a pretty guy — a pretty nice guy!” he rambled nervously, his high cheekbones flushing bright pink. “And, uh, what kind of name do you have that’s so irresistible?”

Damn, did Laurel really take the blind part of this date that seriously? Not telling Oliver who he was meeting was one thing but not preparing her friend just a tiny bit was kind of cruel.

Chuckling at how flustered he was, Oliver held out a hand and“I’m Oliver, Oliver Queen.”

He took his hand, slowly shaking it as a look of recognition dawned on his face, widening his eyes and dropping his jaw. “Honest?”

“I can show you my driver’s license if you want, Mr…?”

“No! No, I — I, um, Barry. Allen. I’m Barry Allen,” he spluttered, more parts of his face turning an even brighter pink.

“Yes, you are,” Oliver tried not to laugh, still shaking Barry’s hand. “Barry, that’s a rare name. You named after Manilow, Gibb or White?”

“After my Grandpa Bart, actually,” said Barry. “It’s short for Bartholomew.”

“Were your great-grandparents Puritans or something?”

“No, just old.”

When Oliver thought about it, factoring in Barry’s possible age that might make his parents in their fifties, which might make his grandparents in their twenties when they got married and the same for his great-grandparents, so, if they were born in the early 1900s or late 1890s, then Bartholomew wasn’t that odd of a name. Now that he thought about it, Barry didn’t look older than twenty-two or twenty-three.

God, he was a kid. Oliver was nearly ten or so years older than him, what was Laurel thinking? Was he even out of school?

“So, what are you studying?” Oliver asked conversationally.

“Oh, I graduated a few years back,” said Barry. “I’m a CSI for the CCPD.”

Oliver leaned closer, folding his arms over the table, impressed. “How long have you been working there?”

“A year and a half? Before that you could say I interned there from high school, my dad’s a detective so he let me look over his cases and come snoop around the scene, I even helped solve a few,” Barry said giddily.

Working in and around the police in Central City was starting to add things up now, Laurel had worked a few cases here so her and Barry meeting made more sense now.

“How’d you get this job so young?”

“I skipped around five grades, got in and out of college early enough to finish my specialized training before I was twenty-three.”

“That’s impressive. I just got the necessary Business degree for it to make sense running my dad’s company, but I’ve known all its ins and outs for years already,” said Oliver.

The waitress Barry was chatting with earlier sidled up to them, practically starry-eyed at Oliver’s presence. “Who’s your friend, Barry?”

Oliver had a feeling she knew who he was.

“Iris, this is Oliver. Did you order something yet?” Barry asked him. “And I’ll have a hot chocolate.”

“With the double-cream and marshmallows?” Iris asked.

“Don’t forget the whipped cream. Oh! Do you have any of the lemon raspberry cheesecake left?”

Iris nodded, jotting it down. “I swear, Bar, I don’t know where you put all this.”

“Hey, I run, a lot, besides I’m tall.”

“And for you?” Iris asked him, her eyes sweeping him up and down.

“Caramel latte, please.”

Iris backed away slowly, watching them until she bumped into another patron’s chair and apologized profusely until she ducked out of sight.

“That’s my sister, she’s a bit intrusive,” said Barry.

Sister?

“Same dad?” Oliver guessed.

“Yeah, Joe took me in when I was nine.”

“Took you in? What happened to your parents?” after he asked, Oliver remembered he didn’t like people asking about his father and followed up with, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s common knowledge around here anyway,” Barry sighed miserably. “It’s why I became a CSI.”

Oliver gave him his entire attention, both curious and concerned.

“My mother was murdered, and her death got pinned on my dad. Joe and Iris lived across the street from us, so, since I don’t have any close family in the state, Joe stepped up to take me in. I’ve been living with them since.”

“That’s… I’m really sorry, Barry.”

Barry shrugged, he must have heard insincere apologies his entire life.

“Five years ago, an old business partner of my father’s didn’t like how things were going and figured the best way to get things done was to get rid of him, he planted a bomb on our yacht and killed almost everyone on it. That’s how I ended up on that island,” Oliver told him, hoping this could make Barry more comfortable now.

“Did you ever get him convicted for it?” Barry asked.

“We’re working on it. He’s a very slippery bastard, it doesn’t help that he’s my best friend’s dad.”

“Ouch. The man that killed my mom was just nuts,” Barry said. “He was convinced that I was going to grow up to ruin his life and snuck into our house in the middle of the night to find me, but he just found my mom…” Barry broke off, putting his hands over his face and breathing out. “Sorry. It’s fine now, he’s dead and my dad — my biological dad, he’s free now.”

Oliver reached over took Barry’s hand off his face just as Iris returned with their drinks. Iris’s dark, excited eyes moved from their hands to Barry’s face, then she just set down their drinks and jet back off to the corner, throwing a few looks over her shoulders, each glance with a bigger smile than the one before.

“What’s up with her?”

“Ignore her.”

They looked down at their cups, awkwardly silent until Barry said, “Boy, this got grim pretty fast.”

“You’re right, let’s change the subject. What are your hobbies?”

“I’m a marathon runner, so I run as ofter as I can, and I watch a lot of quote-and-quote nerdy shows and movies if that’s considered a hobby.”

“On the topic of nerdy, I recently sat down and watched all the Star Wars movies for the first time.”

Barry quickly looked up from his mug, a mustache of whipped cream hilariously going unnoticed. “Really? What did you think?”

“Liked the first three, or are they considered the last three now? Anyway, I loved the original three, especially the second in that trilogy.”

“Dude, _The Empire Strikes Back_ was in a league of its own.”

“It really was, I enjoyed pretty much every part of it, especially all of Han and Leia’s bickering. Princess Leia wasn’t half as hot as the fanboys would have had be believe.”

“Tell me about it. I never saw the hype, then again I only had eyes for Han.” Barry licked the whipped cream off his lips, his tongue wetting his red lips, distracting Oliver enough to drop his spoon in his latte.

“Han? Really? I found Luke way more attractive. He has this kind of uplifting pretty boy sweetness about him, I guess I’m more drawn to that than guy like Han.”

Barry got a bit bashful and, surprisingly, a bit coy as he looked up at Oliver from under his eyelashes. “And I guess I have a thing for the rough-around-the-edges adventurer type, preferably a bit older than me and snarky.”

Shaking off the urge to get flustered, Oliver cleared his throat. “I can see the appeal, but I still liked how nice and innocent Luke started out. Even when he got his lopped off he still retained his humanity, he didn’t let the Dark Side tempt him too much. Otherwise, I think Han would have given in pretty easily.”

“I don’t know, that kind of depends, seeing that Han didn’t believe in the Jedi to begin with.”

“I didn’t get that, like, if we had Sith lords like Vader and Palpatine then who’s to say there are no Jedi?”

“Anakin did pretty much kill all the other Jedi.”

“Don’t get me started on the prequels,” Oliver groaned.

“CGI hell,” Barry said, chewing on one of his marshmallows. “And the dialogue, bleh.”

“And Jar-Jar Binks.”

“And Jar-Jar Binks,” Barry agreed, making a pained face like he had just reimagined the sound of that CGI monstrosity.

“And most of the acting.” Oliver cringed, remembering how off-key most of the scenes were.

“And the scenes that seemed to drag on forever. Who wants to hear about alien diplomacy, see planet-hopping and get a scientific explanation for the Force of all things in a _Star Wars_ movie?”

Oliver nodded. “That science and alien politics and philosophy and stuff, that’s what _Star Trek_ is for.”

“Yes! Exactly! Thank you.” Barry waved to him, pleased. “But seriously, midi-chlorians?”

“Now I can’t stop thinking of the Force as these weird bug-like amoeba running around in my bloodstream.”

“Same, I’m glad they stopped mentioning it after _The Phantom Menace_. Even though the movies didn’t get that much better.”

“They were a bit better, especially the last one when we finally got to see him become Vader,” Oliver reasoned, sipping his latte.

“That big NOOOO at the end though,” Barry pointed out, laughing again. Damn, he was quite smiley for someone with such a miserable backstory. It was kind of admirable.

“Okay, we’re getting too negative again, we need to think of something we did like about the prequels.”

“Alright, on the count of three,” Barry agreed, raising his fingers to count down. “One, two, three…”

“Ewan McGregor!”

“Ewan McGregor!”

Their shared laughter turned several heads, but Oliver didn’t care, he was actually having fun, he was enjoying himself, he was —

He liked this, he liked Barry.

The more they talked, the more comfortable he got. He almost wanted to figure out a way to back in time and kick himself for wanting to skip out on this date.

Two hours passed and in that time Barry had told him about all the science fairs he entered as a kid and Oliver had told him about his archery competitions. Barry told him about how lame and dull his college experience was, mostly with him being a shut-in and studying half the time and the campus itself, thanks to being local, being boring. Oliver told him about all the trips he went on and all the trouble he got up to during his years at all years of schooling, a few of which got him a few snorts and slaps on the arm.

When the third hour started, Barry checked his watch and gasped, “Shit, I should have been at STAR Labs half an hour ago.”

“I could give you a lift there,” Oliver offered.

“That’d be great, just let me go tell Iris I’m heading out.” Barry left the table, a little spring in his step, and Oliver brought out his phone and called Laurel.

“I have to hand it to you, I really enjoyed this,” he said the second she picked up.

Laurel, sounding smug as she did before, said, _“I told you should have tried this. So, how’d it go? Details!”_

“Well, we started off with a bit of small-talk then things got deep pretty fast, we talked about our dads and our jobs and how we both got by in college and then we ended up having an hour-long conversation about _Star Wars_.”

_“Star Wars? I didn’t think Caitlin liked that kind of stuff.”_

The gears in his head came to a dry, screeching halt. “Caitlin? Who’s Caitlin?”

_“Your date?”_

“My date was certainly not a Caitlin.”

Laurel got very quiet for a minute then, in a small voice, she asked, _“If you weren’t with Caitlin then who have you been with?”_

Barry came out that very second and picked up his book bag and jacket. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Oliver answered distractedly, getting up.

_“Oliver? Oliver, who’s that?”_

Opening the door for Barry, Oliver hurriedly whispered, “I’ll call you back.”

_“Oliver? OLIVER!”_

He ended the call and followed Barry out, and once he caught up with him he consciously put an arm around his shoulders and had Barry lean into him as they walked to the car, thanking the gods or Fates or whatever was up there that he wasn’t stuck with a lifetime’s worth of “I told you so!”s from Laurel and hopefully a lifetime of Barry’s easily excited presence and dorky laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> Stop by and say hi on my [**Tumblr**](http://lucyclairedelune.tumblr.com)!
> 
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> Don't forget to comment! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧


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